Absolution
by ChristineX
Summary: COMPLETE! Possibly one of the oddest LOTR love stories ever written. Set approximately six months after ROTK, all OCs, dooming me to obscurity, I know. Rated M for future updates, but NOT slash, I assure you!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Unlike most of my other pieces, this will be fairly short -- less than 20,000 words, I think. I'm just breaking it into chapters for ease of uploading, but it's supposed to be all one piece. Also, I have rated it M for a reason, even though it may not seem like it in this first chapter. :-P

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I

A darkness lived under the eaves of the forest. Lynneth felt it, could sense unfriendly eyes watching her as she returned to her home from gathering wood for the fire. She tried to tell herself that the skin prickling at the back of her neck was nothing more than the result of the foolish fancies of a woman alone, but somehow her internal scolding had no effect.

It should not have been so, almost half a year after the fall of Mordor and the ascension of the good King Elessar to the throne of Gondor. Word had been sent from Minas Tirith, even to a hamlet as isolated as Rinalduin, that the dark powers of Sauron and Saruman were no more, and with them had gone the evil things that had haunted the remote places of the world.

The woods should have held nothing more frightening than bears and wolves -- which, in lesser times, might have been of concern. But the summer that had followed Elessar's crowning had been the richest anyone could remember -- the woods were full of game, hives overflowed with honey, and the streams ran silver with fish. No one, not even the wolves, had any need to go hungry.

In the midst of the rejoicing Lynneth could feel nothing but sorrow. Her husband Timon had fallen before the gates of Minas Tirith in the defense of the city, and she had been left alone. Perhaps it was selfishness that made her harden her heart; what was one man when compared to the overthrow of the Dark Lord Sauron, after all? But she had loved him dearly and could not put aside her grief for the greater joy.

"The beautiful Redmill twins" was the local name given to Lynneth and her sister Mirwen. Their father had been the miller in the hamlet of Rinalduin, and prosperous as any in that tiny village could be. Mirwen had made a brilliant match, to the son of a merchant from Minas Tirith, and had gone to live in a fine house on a street paved with stone. But Lynneth had lost her heart to Timon, the handsome son of the village woodcarver, and had stayed in Rinalduin, whose small cluster of homes huddled against the borders of the great forest that hugged the southern reaches of the White Mountains. It was in a clearing in that forest that Timon had built Lynneth a snug little house, with a pen behind for the sheep whose wool she spun into fine cloth. And it was there she stayed after his death, despite her sister's entreaties to come live with her in Minas Tirith.

Lynneth hated the city, which felt dead and cold to her, even hung as it was with banners proclaiming the coronation of the first King of Gondor in a thousand years. She had gone at her sister's behest, to see Elessar receive the winged crown and take the hand of the elf princess Arwen in marriage, but she had looked on their radiant joy with only sorrow. And it was after the span of only a few days that she fled back to her home in the forest, to the little house with the stone fireplace and the careful carved molding Timon had made especially for her in a delicate pattern of twining leaves. How could she ever leave this place? Why would Mirwen not understand that this house was the last thing Lynneth had of her late husband?

She had hoped for children, but their marriage of barely two years had produced none. If she left this house, it would almost be as if their marriage had never been.

But it was at times like these that she would question herself, wonder if her stubbornness in remaining here did her more harm than good. Her home was isolated, located as it was a good mile from the tiny hamlet, which boasted no more than five hundred souls. Anything could happen to her, and no one would know. Summer had been long and warm and fruitful, but a bite had entered the air once more, and Lynneth knew that winter would soon be here.

_All the more reason to stock the wood shed_, she thought, and continued grimly on. It had been difficult at first to perform the tasks that had been Timon's: chopping wood, leading the sheep into the highland pasture they loved when before she had only needed to spin and weave the wool after their shearing. Doing the work of two people had one benefit at least; it left her little time to mourn.

Evening fell earlier and earlier these days, and Lynneth had taken to wearing a shawl of her own weaving when she went to gather the wood for her nightly fire. Oftentimes she didn't bother to cook but subsisted on bread and cheese made from sheep's milk, supplemented by smoked meat she and Timon had laid by the previous winter. In the village she traded her wool for the things she couldn't produce herself -- metal implements, fine sewing thread, carved wood buttons -- and tried to avoid the pitying stares of the other villagers or the speculative gaze of Thrandor, the blacksmith, who no doubt was counting on his fingers how many months it was appropriate to let lapse before he could try courting her.

But always before she had felt safe in her home and even in the woods, wild as they might seem to a stranger. The stands of oak and beech and elm had always seemed friendly and protective somehow, and Lynneth loved the shifting play of light and shadow beneath their leaves in the summer and the elegance of their bare branches in the winter. Her father had teased her that she must be part wood elf, to which she had replied solemnly that she couldn't be, since she didn't have golden hair. She and her sister had always been called almost Elven-fair, which Lynneth had thought a wild exaggeration, but if by some odd chance a strain of Elvish blood had found its way into this remote valley, then it would have to be of the same line as the Queen's, since Lynneth and her sister possesed the same dark hair and clear gray eyes. But Lynneth had always found that theory highly doubtful, and since much the same coloring could be found in the great families of Gondor it was far more likely that a scion of some noble house had amused himself with a local girl and spread his bloodlines in that manner. Certainly there was nothing fine about Lynneth's family -- save that Mirwen had had the great good luck to attract the notice of a traveler passing through who just happened to be the eldest son of a very old, very rich merchant clan.

Even at the height of the war, when she had seen the skies darken with the fumes of Mordor and the ground had shaken with the tromp of marching orc-feet, Lynneth had still felt herself protected by the sheltering woods. Of course, for the space of a month she had had her sister to keep her company; deeming Minas Tirith to be unsafe, Mirwen's husband had sent her to stay with her sister for a while. But Mirwen's presence had had little to do with Lynneth's feeling of safety. Somehow she had known that they would come to no harm, sheltered as they were in an arm of the White Mountains. Would that Timon had been able to stay there as well! But he had joined in with a levy of men from the vales of Lebennin, determined to strike a blow for Gondor against the might of the Dark Lord, and the last she had seen of him had been as he turned to wave once more before the curve in the mountain road took him forever from her sight.

She paused for a moment on the rough trail that led back to her home and let the evening wind catch at her loose hair. Still she had that feeling of eyes watching her, and suddenly Lynneth turned and ran the last quarter-mile, not caring if the unseen observer was simply someone else from the village gathering wood. Let them laugh at her. At least she was now home, and its familiar warmth surrounded her once more. Before she even placed her armload of wood into the basket by the hearth, she turned and resolutely latched the door.

* * *

Her fears were not allayed when Lynneth went down into Rinalduin the next day. Laragond, the man who had taken over the mill after her father's death, had promised her two sacks of flour and as much fresh meat as she could carry from the cow he had slaughtered the day before in exchange for lengths of wool for new winter cloaks for himself and his wife. With the greater part of autumn already behind her, Lynneth knew that she had to stock herself well for the coming winter. The miller's offer was a generous one. So even though the sky was lowering and a chill breeze blew from the east, bringing with it the scent of a coming rain, she set out to the village with her pony in tow. She hardly ever rode little Halfmoon, as she called him for the irregular blaze that ran the length of his nose, but he did well enough as a pack animal. And it was as Laragond fastened the sacks of flour to the pony's back that he cast sharp eyes on Lynneth, who had stood back to let the miller complete his task.

"Strange things about in that wood," he said, with a quick flicker of his gaze toward the dark marches of the forest, which began only a few hundred feet from the edge of the village.

"People have been saying that for years," she returned easily, vowing not to let the miller's gossip cast a pall on her return trip. Already the day was growing dark, and she did not need formless fears chasing her back down the forest path.

He lifted his thick eyebrows. "Aye, maybe, but Thrandor says there's something as steals the rabbits right from his snares, and Madoc vows he saw a huge shadow moving behind the trees as he went to gather honey two days ago." The miller turned shrewd dark eyes on Lynneth. "We've room and to spare in the house, girl. Are you sure you wouldn't rather winter with the wife and me?"

Lynneth considered the idea of spending the winter in close quarters with the overly inquisitive miller and his sharp-tongued wife and privately thought she'd rather bunk down with a Nazgûl than with that pair. But she put on a polite smile and replied, "I know I'm perfectly safe where I am, Laragond. No doubt a clever fox is raiding Thrandor's snares, and as for Madoc, he's afraid of his own shadow."

Her comment elicited a laugh, and a rather rough clap on the back. Possibly because he had taken on the mill -- and possibly because he had no children of his own -- Laragond had developed a paternal protectiveness toward Lynneth that she found endearing at times but mainly awkward and irritating. Could he not see that she was a woman grown, and a widow? Certainly achieving twenty-three summers should have gained her some sort of respect.

"I should know better than to talk you out of that house -- and a pretty piece of work it is that Timon made for you, I do admit." His smile faded. "But still -- if it should ever come to a point where you aren't comfortable there, you will always have a place here with us."

His clumsy kindness moved her, and Lynneth put a gentle hand on his arm. "I do thank you for that. But I know that I shall do well this winter -- how could I not, with the generosity of such neighbors?" She indicated the laden pony; she knew full well that what she carried back to her home far outvalued the lengths of cloth she had brought, no matter how well-woven they might be.

Color burned in his cheeks above his beard, and Laragond gave her a quick embarrassed nod. "It's as I told the wife -- it isn't right for you to be there alone, and your sister in that fine house in Minas Tirith. Folks should take care of their own."

_She would, if I let her_, Lynneth thought, but she knew better than to argue with Laragond. The house actually bore quite a few tokens of Mirwen's largesse: the fine embroidered counterpane on the bed, the beautiful cabinet of inlaid wood that held Lynneth's pewter ware, even the new set of iron cook pots. The one thing Lynneth knew she could never accept from Mirwen, though, was a place in her household. To live so far from where she was born, so far from the forest and the icy, quick-running streams of the highlands, seemed unbearable. Many was the time that Lynneth wondered how Mirwen could stand it, even though she lived in a beautiful house and dressed in silk and rich jewels.

But to the miller she only said, "I'm afraid a fine house in the city wouldn't suit me, Laragond."

"You always did have your queer notions, that's for certain," he replied, with a shake of his head. "But I can tell that you're as set in your ways as I am." Then he raised his head and looked at the darkening sky. "Best you be on your way, while there's still some light left to see."

He was right. Although the sun would not set for at least another hour, the approaching clouds had cast a pall on the day, and already the forest seemed shadowy and brooding, hiding its own secrets.

She murmured a few more words of thanks and set off, leading the resigned pony, who twitched his ears at the oversized load on his back but offered no other protest.

Even as she entered the wood it felt somehow wrong. Lynneth tried to tell herself that it was just the odd half-light cast by the approaching storm, but all her inner reassurances seemed to ring hollow. Odd shadows flitted behind the trees, catching at the very corners of her vision, but when she turned to see what might have cast them, nothing was there. The wind picked up, sighing through the remaining leaves and causing flurries of gold and yellow and red to fall all around, obscuring the path.

Lynneth hastened her steps, dragging the restive pony behind her. Suddenly it felt very cold, and she pulled her shawl more closely about her with one hand, resolutely keeping her eyes on the path in the hopes that if she looked straight ahead she would see nothing untoward. What could there be after all, with the Shadow vanquished and all fell things gone from the world? Why should she fear the wild creatures that lived in the woods, when she had shared the forest with them all her life?

The day edged toward darkness, and Lynneth knew that she would never reach her pretty cottage in the forest clearing before night fell. She had brought a lantern with her against such eventualities, but somehow the thought of stopping to light it caused her more worry than simply pressing ahead through the gloaming. So she kept on, telling herself that the dimness in the woods didn't matter, that she had walked this path a thousand times before and could do it blindfolded if need be.

A rustle sounded in the fallen leaves off to her left, and she whirled, straining her eyes in the heavy dusk. _Only a fox_, she thought, _or perhaps a squirrel or rabbit, trying to get back to its burrow, just as you are._ But then Lynneth saw a gleam of reddish eyes in the undergrowth, and it seemed as if the darkness gained form and substance, racing toward her even as Halfmoon reared and pulled the lead rope out of her hand. Lynneth could hear herself exclaim against the sudden burning of her palm, and then the shape raced toward her, knocking her to the ground.

She fell against a drift of half-decayed leaves, gasping to regain her breath. A high-pitched sound like a woman's cry came to her ears, and she almost screamed herself when she realized it must be Halfmoon. A guttural grunting followed, and then, suddenly, an even more frightening wail seemed to split the darkness. A huge shadow moved from out of the trees, leaning over her. Lynneth caught a brief nightmarish glimpse of the face of a monster, all fangs and red eyes even as it leaned toward her, reaching out for her limp form.

She felt a scream wrench its way out of her throat, and then the thing was upon her, taking her into its arms and lifting her up and out of the leaves, even as the darkness swirled down upon her and she suddenly knew no more...


	2. Chapter 2

Wow -- I can't believe I actually got two reviews for Chapter 1! Thank you to all you orc-lovers out there! Oh, and I made some cover art for this story, because I'm addicted to making cover art. The link is in my profile, since ff.n for some reason won't let me put URLs in author notes.

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II

Lynneth opened her eyes. She saw a blurred pattern of red and green, and felt something rough under her cheek. For a few seconds she could not comprehend where she was, and then she realized she must be lying on the braided rug that covered the floor in front of her hearth. Painfully she raised herself on one elbow, feeling torn muscles protest the movement even as she did so.

"It didn't hurt you."

The voice was rough, almost guttural, with a harsh accent she couldn't place. She looked up, only to see a nightmare standing before her.

From her prone position he looked even more inhumanly tall, his shoulders massive, bare arms heavily muscled and crisscrossed with scars. Deep-set eyes caught a reddish glow from the banked fire and seemed to blaze blood-colored in the dimly lit room. His legs were likewise bare, his torso covered only by ragged bits of cloth and what looked like the remains of a chain-mail hauberk.

_It can't be_, Lynneth thought. _They all perished at the end of the War..._

But if it were not an orc who stood there, then she couldn't begin to put a name to the creature who stared down at her. After a few seconds she realized he was waiting for some sort of reply, so she faltered, "What didn't hurt me?"

"The boar." He jerked a finger toward her kitchen.

Mystified, Lynneth stood and took a few painful steps in the direction he had indicated. She looked into the kitchen, only to see the carcass of an enormous boar slung across the table normally reserved for more sedate occupations such as chopping vegetables or kneading bread. Blood dripped off one side of the the scrubbed wood and down to the slate floor, where it trailed all the way to the back door.

_So much for the two hours I spent cleaning in there this morning_, she thought ruefully. But obviously he had killed the boar to save her. Very probably she would be dead if it weren't for this -- this -- whatever he was.

"Thank you," she said.

He stared at her silently, and Lynneth began to wonder whether anyone had ever said those two words to him before.

"Your -- your name, sir?" she asked. Perhaps orcs didn't even have names...

But he replied immediately, "Ulfakh."

The word sounded harsh and cruel to her, but she supposed that was only to be expected. "My name is Lynneth," she offered.

He nodded slightly in acknowledgment as he watched her out of those odd reddish-dark eyes. Three rings of dark metal in his left ear glimmered with the movement.

But why had he saved her? What little she knew of orcs certainly did not speak for any sort of altruistic behavior on their part. However, she thought it would be quite rude to question his motives, so instead she cast about in her mind for a more innocuous question. "How did you know to bring me here?"

"Been watching you."

Of course that remark only unsettled her further. In an attempt to hide her dismay, Lynneth moved toward the table where the carcass of the boar lay. It was huge, with blood smeared on its long, cruel tusks. She realized faintly that the blood was probably Halfmoon's. So was it the orc's watching eyes she had sensed in the woods, or the boar's? And how long had he -- the orc, not the boar -- been hiding in the forest? All these long months since the War had ended this past spring?

"I can help with that," he offered, and walked past her to the dead boar. The orc removed a long knife from a crudely made sheath at his studded belt and made a long incision in the dead animal's belly. Without hesitation he reached in and removed the organs, then threw them to the ground with a bloody splat.

Lynneth could feel the gorge rise in her throat, and she quickly choked down the bile. Somehow she had the idea that the orc would not appreciate her getting sick all over his kill. Besides, for some reason she did not want him to think of her as a weak woman who couldn't stand to watch an animal being dressed. It wasn't as if she hadn't done much the same with the rabbits she had caught, and she had watched Timon butcher a sheep on more than one occasion. No, it was more the abandon and casual glee with which the orc performed the task. He seemed to enjoy getting gore up to the elbows, and once even raised his bloody-hafted knife to lick the red juices from its length.

_You will not get sick_, she thought. _You will not get sick..._

Mercifully it was over soon enough. The boar had been reduced to its component parts, and the orc -- _Ulfakh_, Lynneth reminded herself -- had finished the job by extracting the beast's tusks, wiping them on the ragged edges of cloth that barely concealed his upper thighs, and then stringing them on a dirty cord he wore around his neck. It already held other similarly gruesome decorations, including something that looked like a human ear.

The bile reasserted itself, and Lynneth once again choked it back down. _If he were going to hurt you he would have done so already,_ she told herself sternly. Trying to adopt a casual tone, she said, "I can put most of that meat in the smoke house. But I'll roast that haunch for supper, if you're hungry."

He gave her a blank look.

_Oh, Eru, he probably eats it raw_, she thought. _But that is something I will not allow in my house_. "I've been told I'm a very good cook," she added, and after a few seconds of watching her closely he nodded. There might have even been the faintest hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth, but with the way his sharp incisors pulled at his lips it was hard for her to tell for sure.

At least he seemed willing enough to gather up the raw meat and follow her out the back door to the smokehouse, where she showed him how to hang it up on the hooks placed there for that purpose. It seemed she was forgetting something, and suddenly Lynneth remembered all the carefully packaged meat Laragond had sent home with her. Gone along with her poor pony, she thought, and realized how lucky she really was. The boar most certainly would have killed her, and now not only had Ulfakh rescued her from a messy death, but he had provided for her sustenance in a most fortuitous manner.

After they were done Ulfakh raised his head to the dark sky. His nostrils flared, as if he smelled something on the wind. "Rain is coming," he said, and without further comment loped away from her and down the path that led back into the forest.

Lynneth opened her mouth, and then shut it again. What, really, could she have said to stop him? She did rather wish he had told her whether he would be coming back for supper, but then she decided it would be better to assume that he was.

Even before she settled herself down to clean up the mess his abandoned butchery had left in the kitchen, Lynneth restoked the fire, stirring it up so that its heat would be sufficient to roast the enormous haunch she had set aside for the evening meal. Deftly she spitted it, then pushed up her sleeves and set to work.

By the time she was done she felt quite as bloody as Ulfakh had looked, and longed for a bath. The boar was roasting nicely, and the potatoes she had set into the bake oven at the back of the fireplace were well on their way to being done. Hesitant, she went to the front door of the house, opened it, and looked out. Clouds obscured the moon, and she could see little in the heavy darkness. A few random drops of moisture struck her upturned face. It appeared Ulfakh had been right.

Still, it would be at least an hour before the food was ready, and Lynneth already had a cistern of water waiting to be used for her biweekly bath. It would need heating, but she could do that over the great-room fireplace. When Timon had built the house for her, he had indulged Lynneth by constructing it with two hearths, one in the kitchen and one in the main room, and that was often where she took her bath, luxuriating for hours in front of the fire.

But what if Ulfakh came back before she was ready? The thought of being caught naked in the bath by an orc held little appeal. Then again, neither did being covered in filth, and of course she could bar the door and tell him to wait until she had covered herself. She would keep the robe she had made the previous winter out of soft new wool close at hand, just as a precaution.

And it was heavenly to immerse herself in the warm water -- actually, truth be told, in her haste she had only heated it to a bit past tepid -- and to feel the terror and dirt of the day wash itself away with each sweep of the soft homemade soap along her arms. Laragond's wife might have a shrewish tongue, but she also had a way with herbs, and the aromatic solution she made up for Lynneth's hair seemed to relax her as she kneaded away at her scalp and breathed in the scents of chamomile, cherry bark, and other roots and leaves whose names she could only guess at.

Lynneth had just finished pouring a cupful of water over her damp head to rinse out the last of the hair wash when a pounding came at the door. Her heart seemed to fly into her throat, but she willed herself to be calm, and called out, "It's latched. One moment -- "

Her only answer was more pounding, and the latch rattled furiously as if to add emphasis.

Forcing herself not to repeat some of the more colorful curses she'd heard Timon utter over the years -- usually when he missed his target while chopping wood --Lynneth reached over the side of the oaken tub and grabbed her robe, pulling it on over her still-dripping form.

The latch slipped under her damp fingers, and this time she did swear as she clutched it grimly and forced it out of the way. "I told you to wait -- "she began, and then stopped.

The rain Ulfakh had smelled and Lynneth had felt just before she started her bath had begun in earnest. On the step stood the orc, glaring at her as his black hair plastered itself to his neck and dripped off his weathered hauberk. He held what looked like the remains of her saddlebags; she recognized the leather Timon had tooled so carefully, but now one of them was torn half open, although it appeared that its contents were still intact. Of course. Ulfakh had known the rain was coming, and had gone to salvage what he could from the carcass of her poor pony.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, and stepped aside to let him in. She pulled the edges of her robe more tightly together as she did so, but she could not help but notice the quick glance he gave at the open collar of the garment, the curve of her breast it had revealed before she remembered to keep herself covered. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and she could only hope that the chancy illumination from the hearth and the candlestick that sat on the table across the room hid her blush. "I was taking a bath," she added, then gestured toward the oaken tub that sat in front of the hearth. "I needed it, after cleaning up that mess in the kitchen."

It was difficult for her to read his expression, since his features were so alien from anyone else's she had known, but Lynneth thought he looked a bit puzzled. He probably didn't even know what a bath was -- he certainly smelled as if he'd never had one in his life.

"The water's still warm," she offered, and pointed again at the tub.

"Get in -- that?" he asked. "Why?"

"To wash the dirt off," she explained. "People don't walk around crusted in filth -- at least not if they have a choice."

"Orcs do," he said immediately.

"I am not an orc," Lynneth returned. "And this is my house." Even as she said the words she wondered a little at her own temerity. But truthfully, he did stink, and she didn't know if she could bear to sit down and share a meal with him in his current state.

He glared at her, but she met his glare with one of her own, and crossed her arms under her breasts. After a moment she again saw that odd little muscle twitch in his cheek that reminded her of a smile. "Your house," he said, and reached up to pull off the rusty-looking chain mail shirt he wore. The tunic -- if that was what it had been -- he wore underneath was in even worse repair, rent in a dozen places and patched badly, and covered in so many stains Lynneth couldn't even be certain what the original color had been. And underneath that --

_Oh, dear_, she thought, and looked away quickly, the hot blood flooding her cheeks once more. "I -- I need to get dressed," she said, then fled the room even as she heard the huge orc lowering himself into the tub. She could only hope that he would figure out the soap on his own.

Once she was in the relative safety of her bedroom, she dropped the damp robe and drew on a shift and then one of her warmer woolen gowns. Her fingers shook a bit as they worked the lacings. Of course she was no unschooled virgin, but a woman who had been wed for more than two years. Lynneth knew how a man was built, but somehow she hadn't expected Ulfakh to be quite so free with his person. Then again, who knew what conventions of modesty orcs followed -- if any? But he had been so -- so, well, _large_, she had to admit. The memory brought the flush to her face again, and she shook her head, trying to rid it of the image of the orc's oversized private parts.

Perhaps attending to dinner would help distract her. Lynneth moved quickly from the bedroom to the kitchen, keeping her eyes averted as she passed the doorway into the great room. She could hear water splashing and hoped that Ulfakh wasn't getting too much of it on the floor. There were limits to how much cleaning up after the orc she wanted to do in a given day.

The boar haunch needed turning on the spit, and it was time to chop the apples, pears, and walnuts for the salad. Attending to the simple tasks -- and the increasingly toothsome smell of the boar roasting -- helped to put Lynneth's mind at ease...until she realized that she had provided nothing for Ulfakh to wear once he had gotten out of the tub. If he put those dreadful rags back on he might as well not have taken a bath in the first place.

Timon's spare garments still lay neatly folded in the chest at the foot the bed they had shared, but Lynneth wasn't sure they would fit -- Ulfakh looked to be only an inch or so taller than her late husband, but he was far broader in build, especially through the arms and shoulders. Still, she had to try. Perhaps if she took the sleeves off one of his tunics -- Ulfakh obviously didn't seem to mind the cold very much, and that would give some extra room. Her basket of sewing implements still sat on the table next to the bed, and Lynneth hurriedly ripped at the tunic's shoulder seams, hoping that she would be in time. At least Timon's old breeches would probably do -- they were quite baggy, and fastened around the waist with a drawstring that allowed for plenty of give.

As she hastened from the bedroom, she paused briefly in front of the large cabinet that stood at the end of the hall; in there she kept her spare linens, including some new towels that her sister had sent home with her the summer before. Lynneth grasped one, hesitated, and then took out another. After all, the orc had a great deal more surface area to dry off than she did.

When she peered around the corner into the living room, she was relieved to see that Ulfakh still sat in the tub. On closer inspection, it seemed almost that he slept. His head rested against the one end of the tub, and his eyes were shut. As she came closer, however, Lynneth saw a reddish gleam from under one eyelid and realized that he must have noted her approach.

"I brought you some clean clothes," she offered, holding them out in front of her almost like a shield.

He shifted in the tub, and she heard his long wet hair slap against the oak planks. "What's wrong with my own stuff?"

"Besides it being so filthy that it probably walked away on its own accord, I can't imagine," Lynneth retorted.

Ulfakh's response was a baring of teeth, and she took a step back before realizing that perhaps the expression was simply the orcish version of a smile.

"And here are some towels," she went on, extending her arm to hand them to him.

At least this time she was prepared, and cast her eyes down before she could see much more than the gleam of his bare back as he rose from the tub. He took the towels from her, and she shivered as his rough fingers brushed against her hand.

"I'll just put these clothes down on the chair over here," she said hastily, and stepped back a few paces. "I need to check on supper." And with that excuse she fled the room before he could embarrass her any further.

To keep herself occupied, Lynneth busied herself with clearing off the kitchen table and laying out the wooden plates and bowls for supper. She had a set of good pewter, given as a bride gift by Timon's father before his death, but of course she wasn't about to set those pieces out for the orc to sully. And she also had a real dining table, placed up against one wall in the great room, but again, this wasn't the sort of occasion that called for its use. A wave of sadness washed over her as she realized the last time she had sat at that table and eaten off her pewter dishes had been the night before Timon had left for Minas Tirith, never to return.

But she had no time for melancholy -- even as she lifted the boar haunch from the spit and rested it in the heavy earthenware platter she used for such purposes, she heard the orc speak from the doorway to the kitchen.

"Smells good."

Lynneth turned, and saw him standing there, watching her. The tunic strained across his broad chest, and she wondered how long the side seams would hold up against such abuse, but for now at least he was covered, and clean. His heavy black hair had left damp spots on the faded blue of the tunic, and she could tell even from where she stood that his coarse locks were still matted and knotted, but overall she had to admit he looked vastly improved.

"And you're just in time," she said, setting the platter down on the table. Unfortunately, she'd had no fresh bread, nor the time to make any, but there was enough left of the old loaf to feed them tonight, and she supplemented it with some soft yellow cheese. Her water came from a well at the back of the house and was very cold and pure; she poured it from a pitcher into the earthenware mugs that sat at either place setting.

Ulfakh appeared to hesitate, staring down at the little table and the two wooden chairs that flanked it. Lynneth had the curious thought that perhaps he had never sat down to a real meal at a real table before. So she pulled out her own chair and seated herself, then took the folded napkin of coarse linen from beside her plate and spread it across her lap. After a moment, the orc did the same, looking at the piece of faded fabric for a bit before he, too, spread it across his lap. The chair on which he sat groaned a bit as he shifted his weight, and Lynneth prayed silently that it wouldn't break into splinters under his considerable bulk.

She had just begun to reach for the platter that held the boar haunch to offer it to him when he seized the huge piece of pork and lifted it to his mouth, fangs bared.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she asked, and he paused, staring at her with confused bloodshot eyes.

"Getting my dinner," he growled, but she thought she detected a hesitant tone in his rasping voice.

"You cut off what you need," Lynneth replied, and pointed to the sharp knife that lay alongside the boar haunch on the platter. "Then you put it on your own plate."

He made another snarling sound, but did as she said. The platter returned to the table top, and he lifted the knife and sawed away at the meat, cutting off a large, dripping hunk for himself. Then, to her surprise, he cut a second piece, and dropped it on her plate without ceremony.

"Well -- thank you," she said. A sudden stray comment Laragond's wife had made once passed through her mind, and she looked down to hide her smile.

_Men!_ the miller's wife had snorted. _You can train 'em -- if you get 'em young enough_.

Lynneth wondered if that remark could also be applied to orcs. _Are you planning on keeping him around long enough to train him?_ she asked herself. The thought was slightly appalling. Certainly she had only meant to feed him and send him along his way. Looking up from her plate, she watched the orc for a few moments from beneath her eyelashes. His table manners were dreadful, naturally -- he disdained the fork and knife and tore at the meat with his sharp teeth, and the boar seemed to be the only food he was interested in. The fruit salad, potato, and bread sat untouched by his plate.

But the rain had intensified -- she could hear it rustling against the thatched roof and dripping off the eaves. Surely she couldn't send him off in this. The cottage did have a second sleeping chamber. She and Timon had hoped that one day it would a nursery, but that day had never come.

She lifted a piece of roast boar to her mouth and chewed slowly, contemplating the situation. Did he expect to stay? What would he think if she asked him to spend the night in the cottage?

_It's simple hospitality_, she thought. _Never mind that he probably doesn't even know what that is. And he did save your life, after all._

Well, that settled it. Lynneth allowed herself to eat for a few moments in silence -- obviously orcs were not given to indulging in dinnertime conversation. Then she said, before she lost her nerve, "You should stay. The rain is growing heavier."

He looked at her, his odd reddish-amber eyes narrowing. A trail of grease ran from the corner of his mouth. But he said nothing.

"I have a second bedchamber. The bed is small, but it should suit you." His continuing silence unnerved her, and Lynneth took a sip from her mug and suddenly wished it were wine, not water, that she drank. Perhaps a few draughts of the heady Belfalas vintage that rested securely in the cellar would have given her courage. "I would not wish to send you back out in that rain," she finished, feeling suddenly foolish.

Still he watched her with that unreadable expression. Perhaps another orc would have been able to tell what he was thinking, but to Lynneth his face was alien, bestial.

"I will stay," he said finally, and then reached out to carve himself another piece of boar.

"Good," Lynneth murmured, but even as she said the word she began to wonder if she had made a very great mistake...


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, everyone -- I hope this chapter will explain a bit more about Lynneth's reaction to Ulfakh. Thanks for all the lovely reviews -- I honestly hadn't expected to get even this much in the way of a response to this story!

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III

The next morning dawned cold but clear, the storm of the night before apparently passing with the darkness. Lynneth pulled the covers closer to her chin and shivered, but whether she shuddered from the cold or the memory of her actions of the night before, she couldn't be certain. Really, where had she ever gotten the nerve? Although she had always been counted the bolder of the twins, with her sister preferring to stay indoors and work at her embroidery or sewing while Lynneth showed all the regrettable hoydenish behavior of a tomboy, even she was a bit startled by her audacity. To have invited an orc to sit down to supper with her, and then to have the temerity to give him instruction in table manners! Even now she could feel her cheeks flush as she recalled the way she had spoken to Ulfakh.

Perhaps it had merely been the knowledge that he had saved her from the boar. Surely if he had meant her any harm he wouldn't have come charging to her rescue. It would have been easy enough to let her die, after all. What would he have cared?

Indeed, that was the question that continued to trouble her as Lynneth reluctantly pushed back the blankets and felt the chill air strike her through the heavy linen of her sleeping shift. The water from the basin in the corner of the room felt almost freezing, but at least it helped to wake her as she splashed it against her face and then gathered up her gown and a clean shift from the carved wardrobe that sat against the far wall. The act of brushing out her hair and then braiding it for the day's tasks helped to calm her a bit, and after she was done Lynneth set down the brush and lifted her chin, feeling better able to face the morning -- and Ulfakh.

But when she looked into the smaller chamber where she had told him to sleep, she saw that he was gone. A mess of blankets and sheets on the floor revealed that he apparently had passed the night there instead of on the bed, but she could hardly blame him for that. The bed was a narrow, rope-suspended affair, and no doubt it had proved far too small for him. That didn't explain, where he had gone, however.

As Lynneth ventured into the great room, she thought she heard the familiar sound of an axe striking wood. She stepped to the front door and opened it, looking out into the clearing in front of the cottage, and immediately spotted Ulfakh.

He stood with his back to her, but there was no mistaking what he was doing. Even as she watched the heavy axe swung upward, then came down in a smooth arc against the great tree trunk Lynneth used as a platform for splitting logs. Immediately the large chunk of elm he had placed there shattered in two, and he gave a grunt of satisfaction as he bent over and added the pieces of wood to the impressive pile that had begun to grow a few feet away from him. She could see the steam of his breath in the icy morning air, and watched the sweat glisten on his massively muscled arms as he worked.

It was impossible not to admire the easy economy of his movements. Of course she had known he was inhumanly strong, but she knew just how difficult it was to split wood in such a way -- her own back and arms had ached for days after the first time she had been forced to attempt the task herself, after Timon had died. And her accuracy had never been that good.

After Ulfakh paused for a few seconds to wipe at his brow, Lynneth spoke. "Are you ready for some breakfast?"

He turned, and she barely kept herself from taking a step backward into the relative safety of the cottage. In the dimness of her firelit home the night before he had been frightening enough, but the morning sun was unrelenting in tracing every alien line of his face, from the gleaming reddish eyes to the sharp fangs that seemed to pull his mouth into a continual snarl. But she forced herself to remember that there was reason behind that bestial visage, and that he had slept beneath her roof and done her no harm.

"Yeah," he said, and leaned the axe up against the tree stump. Bending down, he retrieved a generous armload of wood and began to walk toward her.

Not wanting to wait until he had come close, Lynneth ducked back into the house and went on into the kitchen. She had banked down the fire for the night, but Ulfakh had apparently stirred it to new life before he went out to the yard to split wood. The flames danced happily at the hearth, and the room felt warm and comforting after the chill air outside. It was the work of a moment to fill the kettle and swing it on its trivet back over the fire.

Even as she was straightening up from her tasks Ulfakh entered the kitchen, going directly to the wood basket and dumping the freshly chopped logs there. His bulk still surprised her -- somehow he seemed to fill up the small room in a way that Timon, tall as he was, never had.

"Thank you," she said. "It was nice to come in and have the fire already going."

He nodded, but still with that half-puzzled look on his brutish features. Perhaps such pleasantries were as alien to him as his face and form were to her. But he had voluntarily gone out into the cold morning to prepare more wood for the fire, and he had gone quietly, without waking her. It was the sort of thing Timon might have done, once upon a time.

That thought disturbed her, so Lynneth turned from the orc and instead moved to the larder, where she retrieved the leftover bread from the night before, as well as some cheese, along with apples she had picked from a wild orchard only a few days earlier. The night before Ulfakh had shown no inclination toward anything but meat, but she thought she should try and see if he could vary his diet at least a little. Hesitating, she gathered up the last two of her precious eggs; her hens had never been very good layers, but lately they had been performing worse than usual, and Lynneth as yet hadn't been able to figure out why. She had been saving the eggs, but they wouldn't have lasted more than another day, and she thought Ulfakh probably needed them more than she did.

"Do you like eggs?" she asked.

Warily he looked from her to the pale brown ovals she held in her hands. "Bit slimy," he said, after a pause.

"Well, I would cook them!" she retorted. Really, did orcs use fire for any purpose except burning things down?

Again that watching silence. "I'll try 'em," he finally said.

"Good," she replied, and lifted the now-whistling kettle off the trivet to prepare a pot of tea. Like so many other things in the cottage, the tea had been a gift to Lynneth from Mirwen, her twin; Lynneth could not have afforded such luxuries on her own.

Ulfakh sniffed at the air as aromatic steam began to spill out from the heavy earthenware teapot. "What's that?"

"Tea," she replied, even as she reached up to retrieve her skillet from the rack that hung above the hearth.

"Never heard of it," he said, giving her a suspicious look.

That didn't surprise her; somehow Lynneth couldn't imagine a band of orcs sitting down for a spot of afternoon tea. But she said only, "Well, it will be ready in a moment. Then you can see if you like it."

And she busied herself with the skillet under the watchful eyes of the orc, all the while wishing she had some bacon to offer him along with the eggs. There were so many things she should have stocked against the coming of the winter and hadn't. She hadn't thought she would need them, living alone here with her misery.

The eggs were crackling away happily, and Lynneth turned to pour out the tea into the two deeply glazed brown mugs that matched the teapot. With a pang she thought of the last time she had done so for Timon. She had used up the last of her previous store of tea to give him a proper send-off. He loved it so, and she had thought that if by some unspeakable chance the world were to fall into shadow, a lack of tea would be the least of her worries. Even then she had not allowed herself to think what would happen if her husband never came home.

She handed the mug to Ulfakh, who sniffed at it, his broad nostrils flaring even more as he did so. "Smells like dead leaves," he said.

"It _is_ dead leaves," she replied. "Just a special kind. Be careful -- it's quite hot."

He gave a grunting sound that might have been his version of a chuckle. Probably an orc's mouth wasn't as sensitive to heat as a normal man's. Hadn't orcs been bred by Morgoth in the bowels of the earth, lit by subterranean fires? But she noticed he blew on the liquid several times before taking a cautious sip. Then his heavy brow wrinkled. "Tastes like dead leaves," he commented.

Well, what had she expected? "It helps to wake me up in the morning," she said.

"Orc draughts're better for that," he replied.

Lynneth started to ask what an orc-draught was, and then thought better of it. She feared he might offer some to her if he had any on his person. Instead, she took a few sips of her own tea before setting the mug down on the kitchen table. Then she went to the skillet and removed it from the fire, and slid the eggs onto a plate. "You should have some bread with that," she added, as he took the plate from her.

"Stinkin' elf food," he said, his lip curling a bit.

"That's the first I've heard of it," she retorted, and went to slice herself a piece. She slathered it liberally with butter and took a generous bite. "Men and halflings and dwarves eat bread. I daresay even the men of Harad and Rhûn eat some kind of bread as well."

"Hmph," was his only reply, but he did not protest as she cut another piece of the heavy wheaten loaf and laid it on his plate. As she watched out of the corner of her eye, he picked it up, gave the slice a quizzical look, then began to use it to sop up the egg yolks from his plate.

Barely suppressing a smile, Lynneth took another sip of tea, then asked, "Have you been in the woods ever since -- " She faltered, wondering how she should refer to the defeat of the Dark Lord in front of him. Then again, did an orc even have sensibilities to be offended? " -- since the War ended?" she finished, feeling slightly foolish.

"Afore that," he replied, and took a gulp of his own tea. "I fought for the White Hand, not the Red Eye."

His words puzzled her, until she remembered the rumors of the orc legions the rogue wizard Saruman had gathered at Isengard. "So you were not with the armies of Mordor?" Lynneth inquired, feeling inexplicably relieved. If he had not fought in the Pelennor Fields then certainly he could have had nothing to do with the battlefield death of her husband.

Ulfakh shook his head. "Me and a couple of the other lads as survived the attack by the forest moved to the south, thinking we could pick up with some of the Dark Lord's troops. But we never made it that far before we heard the War had ended."

"So what happened to the other orcs?"

He gave her a scornful glare. "_Uruk-hai_, not orcs. Saruman bred us special. You ever heard tell of an orc who could stand the sight of the sun?"

No, she hadn't, and perhaps if she'd been thinking clearly Lynneth would have considered that as she watched Ulfakh chop wood in the thin light of a November morning. "Uruk-hai?" she repeated.

"Special orcs," he said, mopping up the last of the yolk from his plate and giving the clean surface a slightly regretful look. "Taller, stronger, smarter. _Better_," he added, in a somewhat belligerent tone that discouraged any further argument.

Lynneth wondered how much better they could have been if they'd been defeated before even joining in the great battle before the gates of Minas Tirith, but she held her tongue. Instead she asked, "And your companions?"

Ulfakh made a disgusted sound low in his throat. "Kordash got himself caught in a bear trap in the woods. Stupid sot. And then some bloody whiteskins caught sight of Muldag and me in the highlands about two days' march from here. Bastard looked like a porcupine from the arrows he caught, and I took off."

By "whiteskins" she could only infer that he meant men of Gondor. No doubt a hunting party had seen the fugitives and done their best to dispatch the two Uruk-hai. "So you've been hiding here ever since?"

Without meeting her eyes, Ulfakh nodded. No doubt for a warrior such as he skulking in the woods for such an extended length of time would be considered shameful, but she couldn't blame him. Alone, separated from his kind...what other options did he have?

Clearing her throat, Lynneth said, "And you told me you'd been watching me? All this time?"

"Past few months," he admitted. He lifted the mug of tea and drank deeply, despite his earlier comment about the liquid tasting like dead leaves. Perhaps it saved him from having to elaborate.

But she wasn't about to let the matter go so easily. "Why?"

He lifted his strange reddish-amber eyes to hers. "Heard you, once. You were going down the forest path, and you were singing."

Cheeks flushing slightly, Lynneth recalled that she often had sung to herself as she made her way through the forest. Her voice was sweet, if perhaps not suited to a king's hall, and she had sung to keep herself company and to keep the pain from overwhelming her as she went from her cottage to the tiny hamlet of Rinalduin to obtain the meager supplies she needed to get by. The old ballads had forced her to concentrate on remembering the words instead of feeling the absence of her husband as a constant throbbing ache, like a wound that had never really healed.

But if Ulfakh had watched her all that time, a savage Beren to her mortal Luthien, then it seemed as if her one refuge had been taken away. Even the woods she had thought could shelter her and keep her safe from the world had instead betrayed her by concealing Ulfakh's presence. How could she have not known he was there? True, she had sensed something, but only lately, not through all the months he claimed to have been hiding in the forest.

She wanted to weep. Instead, Lynneth forced a smile and said, "I'm surprised my unskilled voice didn't frighten you off."

Immediately he replied, "It was pretty," and then looked vaguely surprised at himself for saying such a thing.

His comment startled her as well; she wouldn't have thought an orc -- an _Uruk-hai_, Lynneth corrected -- might be moved by something as trifling as an old ballad sweetly sung. Then again, he had constantly surprised her from the moment they had met, so possibly it was time to revise once again her expectations of him. Perhaps it was somewhat disturbing to think that he had been observing her for so long, but he hadn't lifted a hand against her...only against the boar that had tried to take her life.

"I'm glad you were watching," she said swiftly, and was rewarded by that odd uplift of his mouth which must have been the orcish equivalent of a smile. Feeling awkward -- wasn't it strange that she should feel so at ease around this brutish, alien guest? -- Lynneth added, taking care to keep her tone light, "although I'm sure the boar feels differently."

At that comment he laughed outright -- a harsh, snarling laugh, perhaps, but a laugh nonetheless. Lynneth managed a smile, even as she wondered at herself. Odd as it seemed, she suddenly felt safe around him, and she realized that the resolution she had made the evening before to see him on his way after he had spent the night had faded like mist in sunlight. Perhaps there would come a time when Ulfakh decided to move on, but for now she knew there would be a place here for him as long as he wanted it.

She leaned forward, and took the empty plate from his hands. "If you're done splitting wood, there's a broken bit of the sheep pen that could use some tending to."

For a moment he gazed at her, seeming somewhat taken aback by her words. Then he said, with a gleam in his eyes, "Show me."

And she knew he wouldn't be leaving for a long time...


	4. Chapter 4

OK, everyone...Ms. X isn't kidding. If you're under eighteen, you probably shouldn't read this chapter. For the rest of you, have fun!

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Four

The days passed. Frost rimed the ground outside Lynneth's cottage, and the trees lost their last brave leaves as the world tilted toward winter and the very bottom of the year. But the weather that could have caused her hardship had she been alone seemed blunted by Ulfakh's presence; he kept the woodpile well-stocked, patched the leak in the cottage's thatched roof, and roamed far and wide in the woods to bring back deer and rabbit, and even the occasional trout from streams that had not yet frozen over. Some winters they never did; the season was milder here at the base of the White Mountains than most places in Middle Earth, and the snow usually held off until after midwinter.

Lynneth shared her home with the Uruk-hai, giving him someplace safe and warm to shelter in exchange for the thousand and one small tasks he performed to make this, her first winter without Timon, somehow bearable. He still slept on the floor of the spare bedroom, and had brushed off her concerns by telling her that the wooden boards and the cocoon of blankets she provided for him were far more comfortable than the bare earth of the forest floor had ever been.

If someone had told Lynneth a few months earlier that she would be comfortable living with an orc she would most certainly have told them they were mad, and indeed as time wore on sometimes she wondered if she were a bit touched in the head to have allowed such an arrangement to continue. _Perhaps the loss of my husband has driven me mad_, she thought, then, _but would a madwoman stop to think whether she were mad or not?_

To that she had no answer, and although Ulfakh occasionally still startled her with an unexpected comment or an odd look, she found herself to be increasingly accustomed to his presence. For one thing, he tended toward silence and a sort of animal self-sufficiency; he could sit quietly, repairing his armor or crafting more hunting arrows, as she spent long hours at the loom, weaving the only commodity she had to offer in trade for the necessities of life. The lengths of woolen fabric grew, and she knew that soon she would have to make her way back down to the village to barter for more flour, and honey, and fifty other things she knew she needed but had continually put off, blaming the weather or her lack of a pack animal on the delay.

Finally, though, she knew she could avoid the trip no longer -- the wind had shifted to the east and had begun to smell of snow. Lynneth had lived in the uplands beneath the White Mountains all her life and knew the changes in the climate as well as she knew the rhythms of her own body. Perhaps she had one day's grace, perhaps two. But after that the first snows would come, and Midwinter's night was almost upon them.

Ulfakh met her announcement that she must go down to the village with equanimity, although he did ask how she intended to get her supplies back up to the cottage. "Never replaced that pony, you know," he added.

"I know," she said. At the time she had only mourned the loss of Halfmoon -- and worried over how she could possibly afford to buy another animal, even if there were a pony in Rinalduin that she might purchase. But now his loss represented a very real logistical problem.

In the end she decided to use her one milk cow as a beast of burden. The little calf would be of no use in such a capacity, that was for certain. And, after all, oxen were often pressed into that sort of service. Although Pella swiveled her ears at Lynneth and made a few lowing moos of protest, otherwise she did not fuss at the bags her mistress placed on her back.

"Put her off her milk, probably," Ulfakh offered as he watched this entire operation. He knew better than to enter Pella's stall in the barn, however; the cow had already made her opinion of the Uruk-hai quite clear the one time he had tried to help with the milking.

"No doubt," Lynneth replied briskly. "But you don't like milk anyway, and we have cheese enough to last us for a while."

He nodded, then said, "I'm coming with you."

She gave him a sharp look. "Don't be ridiculous. How in all Middle Earth would I ever be able to explain you?"

Seemingly ignoring the jab, Ulfakh said, "Not into the village. But through the forest. I'd wait up the path where no one could see me."

Although she wanted to argue, Lynneth had to admit that his plan made some sense. At least that way she wouldn't be walking unattended through the woods, and she could make the journey in some safety. Once she was done with her business he could meet back up with her along the forest path, with no one the wiser.

"Very well," she conceded. "But you must stop when I tell you to. Sometimes people go farther up into the wood than you might think, to gather wood or check their snares."

"I know," he said, and she realized that of course he was probably more aware of her neighbors' comings and goings than she, considering the amount of time he spent roaming through the forest.

With the matter agreed upon, Lynneth drew her cloak up around her head to ward off the cold and set forth, Ulfakh silently trailing a few feet behind. Pella gave him a white-eyed look, but forbore any further protest and clopped along placidly enough.

Winter was all around them. The earth felt hard and cold beneath her low-heeled doeskin boots, and Lynneth pulled her cloak more tightly around her. Above them the trees spread bare, elegant branches against the iron-colored sky. A great stillness seemed to lie over the land, and Lynneth spoke no words as she pressed on through the chill morning, her breath a misty banner streaming out behind her.

They reached the fork in the path that led either down into Rinalduin or a circuitous eastern route that finally ended in the next village, a good six leagues away. Without a word Ulfakh slipped away into the trees, but not before she noticed he had the bow he had made for himself held at the ready. No doubt he planned to do a little hunting while she was occupied with her business in Rinalduin.

Cheered a little by the thought of some nice roast rabbit, Lynneth made her way the final quarter-mile down into the hamlet. Against the wintry stillness she could heard the steady, rhythmic clanging of Thrandor working at his forge. She'd hoped to avoid him, but little chance of that; the path led directly past his property, and the sound of hammer and tongs abruptly quieted as she moved headed toward the miller's place.

"Lynneth!"

There being little else she could do, Lynneth paused at the gate that led in to the forge and waited as Thrandor appeared. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and he wore a heavy leather apron. Once she would have thought him impressively muscled, but even his well-developed arms paled in comparison to Ulfakh's.

Thrandor stopped and looked at Lynneth and then at her unlikely pack animal. No doubt some of the village girls found the smith comely enough, but Lynneth had never liked beards and had always wondered what it was Thrandor hid behind his.

"What happened to Halfmoon?" he asked.

Lynneth knew that even a half-truthful reply would only renew his entreaties that she spend the winter safely with Laragond and his wife. Instead she said, "He took a chill, and went so quickly I didn't even have a chance to come down to the village to ask for aid. But Pella here is doing well enough for me."

The smith's hazel eyes narrowed, but he said only, "That is ill news. You should have sent word -- perhaps we could have found you a new pony."

Shaking her head, Lynneth answered, "It didn't seem necessary, with winter so close. You know I'll only be coming back to village once or twice more before the spring."

"And it seems wrong -- you alone up there -- "

"I thank you for your concern, Thrandor, but I fare well enough." Lynneth pushed back her hood and raised her face to the sky. She could almost feel the weight of unshed snow in the clouds that seemed to press down against the mountains. "But for now I need to gather my supplies quickly, before the storm is upon us."

"Let me help," he offered.

Since Lynneth could think of no way to demur without raising his suspicions, she allowed him to go back into the forge and bank the fire, then follow her around the village as she went about her business. First she called on Laragond, the miller, for more flour and grain. Laragond seemed to take it as a good sign that she was allowing Thrandor to assist her and was almost quiet -- for him. He gave her a very favorable trade for the lengths of wool she offered, and added more of his wife's soap and special hair rinse. Next she went to Ranamir, who owned several fine orchards and always had some apples and honey to offer in exchange for her finely woven fabric. This time he also gave her a bottle of his special mead, and winked at her protests.

"For those cold winter nights," he said, and Lynneth had no choice but to accept the precious gift and stammer her thanks. Then it was more needles to replace those bent during the latest round of sewing, to the cobbler to have the loose heel of her boot nailed down once more, and finally back to Thrandor's forge so he could give her some nails to repair a loose shutter on her bedroom window. There she hoped to send him back to his work and be on her way, but he was not to be gotten rid of so easily.

"I'll walk back with you," he said, and she immediately opened her mouth to protest. He forestalled her by continuing, "It's not safe. People have seen strange things in the woods lately, and the hunting has been chancy. Perhaps you had no choice but to come down here on your own, but I know better than to let you go back alone."

In the end Lynneth had no choice but to acquiesce, and followed along as Thrandor took Pella's lead rope and headed up the path toward her home. She could only hope that Ulfakh would have the sense to remain out of sight and understand that he should stay far away from the cottage until the smith had returned to Rinalduin.

Thrandor's presence seemed to make the journey back twice as long as the walk into the village had been; he had a disconcerting habit of staring at her until at last she felt compelled to raise up her hood once more, claiming the cold as her excuse. Also, she had grown used to Ulfakh's quiet manner and thought the smith to be a tiresome chatterbox, a man who seemed compelled to point out the obvious -- _cold weather we've been having, feels like snow, you're sure you don't want to pack up your things and winter in the village?_

All Lynneth could do was make noncommittal replies in a quiet monotone that bordered on sulky and hope that at some point the man would get it through his thick head that she just wasn't interested. Did he have iron between the ears? Was that why he couldn't seem to understand her reticence?

Finally they reached the cottage, and at least Thrandor was of some use in helping to off-load Pella, who seemed immeasurably relieved to be released from her burdens and returned to the safety of her stall in the barn. But once all of the little tasks involved in putting her new supplies in their proper places were complete, the smith still seemed disinclined to leave. He loitered in the kitchen, obviously hoping she would offer him some tea or something even more heartening. But Lynneth knew better than that, and after she made a few pointed comments about the oncoming storm he finally took the hint and left, throwing her a doubtful glance over his shoulder before the woods swallowed him up once again.

_Thank Eru_, Lynneth thought, leaning her head against the lintel of the kitchen door. _Any longer, and I would have hurled the kettle at his head._

"He wants you," said a gruff voice from somewhere above her, and she jumped slightly. Ulfakh moved far too quietly for someone of his bulk.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

Ulfakh's nostrils flared in apparent dislike. "I smelled it on him."

_You probably could_, she thought. But she said, "I suppose it's obvious to everyone. Too bad I don't want him."

"Why?"

Pausing, Lynneth stared back at Ulfakh. His appearance had improved immeasurably over the past month -- his heavy black hair was now clean and pulled into a rough horsetail that fell halfway down his back, and Lynneth had made him garments to properly fit his bulk. But he was still an orc. There was nothing that could be done to change the brutish cast of his features, or the strange amber-red eyes. However, for some reason Lynneth found she would rather look at him than at Thrandor. If nothing else, at least half his face wasn't covered in hair.

"I don't like him," she said at length. "He thinks he can have whatever he wants for the taking. I'm not some prize to be won, like a gold ring in a tournament."

The Uruk-hai's brow furrowed, as if her words had some presented him with a novel concept. Perhaps he -- former plunderer and warrior -- had never before realized that a woman might want to have some say in her destiny. Finally he replied, "I don't like him, either."

For some reason, his comment made her smile. "Then aren't you glad you I got rid of him?" she asked.

"If you hadn't, I would have," Ulfakh growled.

Of that she had no doubt. However, if Thrandor had inexplicably disappeared Lynneth knew she would never have been able to come up with a satisfactory explanation for his absence. She was thankful it hadn't come to that -- and at the same time felt oddly cheered that Ulfakh would have no qualms about protecting her from the smith if the worst should happen. Still, she thought it better to steer the conversation into less dangerous waters.

"Enough of Thrandor," she said. "What did you catch for supper?"

* * *

The snow held off that night, and most of the following day. But finally plump white flakes began to fall from the heavily laden clouds, drifting to blanket the bare tree branches and the clipped forms of the roses that lined the front path. Tomorrow would be Midwinter's Day. 

Lynneth watched the snow fall, and thanked the weather; there would be no one to brave the forest path in this. She and Ulfakh were safe.

While she had been going about her business in the village he had caught two rabbits, as well as an even greater prize: a large white goose, one of the last winging its way out of Gondor. Obviously he was as handy with a bow as he was with a snare. His keen eye had brought them a feast worthy of Midwinter, and now it was up to her to prepare it.

Her kitchen hearth could barely contain the large fowl, but Lynneth spitted it grimly and made sure she had plenty of fuel on hand to keep the fire going through the long hours it would require to roast the beast. The feathers she had saved; they would help to plump up her tired bolster.

Ulfakh knew better than to be underfoot in the kitchen while she was working. He remained in the great room, fletching yet another set of arrows. Already he had stock enough to bring down a whole flight of geese, and Lynneth wondered sometimes at his industry. Perhaps it was the only occupation he could think of that would give him something useful to do and still allow him to stay indoors. True, he did not shirk at venturing outdoors to bring in more wood, or to draw water from the well, or to make his rounds of the sheep pen and the barn to determine that all was still secure. But he did seem to prefer being inside...being with her. And Lynneth couldn't quite decide when it was that she had begun to enjoy his company, but she knew that she had begun to miss him when he went foraging in the woods and was gone for hours. She told herself that it was only because his companionship was a bulwark against the short, cold days and long, dark nights, but deep down she knew better.

Still, Lynneth let her preparations for dinner occupy her, keep her mind from going to places too troubling to contemplate. And when she brought up one of her few precious bottles of wine from the cellar, again she told herself that it was only so that they might have a fitting accompaniment for the feast, and a celebration for Midwinter's Eve.

That night she spread the fine embroidered linen cloth over the long-unused dining table, and set her heavy pewter plates and blown-glass goblets in the places where she and Timon had always sat. From his seat by the hearth Ulfakh watched her preparations with some curiosity, but he made no comment. It was only when she brought in the goose at last, crackling and golden-brown on the heavy earthenware platter which Laragond and his wife had given her as a bride gift, that the Uruk-hai spoke.

"A lot of fuss," he said.

"It's Midwinter's Eve," she replied simply, then went on, as he gave her a curious look, "a celebration. It's a tradition to have a special feast."

He set down the arrow he had been holding and rose. "Glad I bagged that goose," he said, and came and sat down at the head of the table, in the seat she had indicated.

Truly it was a marvelous goose, and a sumptuous meal. Last Midwinter she had been with Timon of course, but the time had been fraught with worry over the coming war and the shadow of Mordor, and the meal had been simple -- just a roast chicken and some stewed tomatoes. But now they had goose, and potatoes, and the last of the peas from the garden, and a comfit of spiced apples, and new-baked rolls. The wine had prospered during its last year in the cellar and was redolent of ripe fruit and warm, sandy soils beneath the mild salt breezes of Belfalas.

Lynneth ate and drank and ate some more, and watched Ulfakh enjoy the varied meal, not even turning up his nose at the spiced apples or the potatoes. Gradually she began to feel a warm, satisfied sensation in her stomach, and the splendid lightheadedness that came from drinking just enough wine to enjoy it but not enough to rue the effects the next day.

It was at that point Lynneth realized that Ulfakh had fallen silent and was staring at her, watching her across the scatter of denuded bowls and the half-picked goose carcass. In the candlelight his skin was the color of old bronze, and a deep russet glow lit his eyes. As she watched, he stood and then took a step toward her. For a long moment he remained there, looming over her as she gazed up at him. Her heart began to beat more heavily, and she felt a tremor pass over her. The silence seemed to grow and stretch, broken only by a soft hiss from the fireplace as a log broke apart and sent up a shower of sparks.

Then he reached down and grasped her by the arms, drawing her upward until their faces were scant inches apart. She looked back at him, taking in the high broad cheekbones, the flat nose, the blood-colored irises. And then his face became her whole world as he brought his mouth down against hers.

He tasted of wine, and the feel of his thin lips and sharp teeth was odd yet strangely arousing. Without thinking she opened her mouth to his, feeling his tongue touch hers. A shudder went through her, and the heat rose in her body even as she suddenly sensed his arousal, felt his hardness pressing against her stomach.

His hands were in her hair, feeling the heavy loose masses of it, and then his mouth trailed down to her neck, finding the sensitive place behind her ear as she gasped aloud. Without realizing at first what was happening, she found herself being lifted up and away from the dining table, over to the heat of the fireplace. They sank down on the rug, and his hands pulled at the lacing of her gown. Lately she had been making her garments with front fastenings, since she had no one to help her dress, and he easily pulled away the heavy woolen bodice to reveal the thin linen shift she wore underneath. With a growl he pulled at the light fabric and it tore, revealing her breasts. Immediately his mouth was on her nipple, licking at the sensitive skin, and she moaned aloud as the waves of pleasure washed over her.

Lynneth arched her back, pushing herself against him, and then she felt his hand grope up under her gown, finding the place between her legs, already wet with wanting him. His fingers were rough and hard with calluses, but she found she didn't care. It was enough that he should be touching her like this, causing the frissons of pleasure to ripple their way up her spine. Then he paused as he pulled at her dress, drawing it over her head, along with her shift. She lay naked before him, feeling the scratchy wool of the rug beneath her, the heat of the fire along her exposed flesh. He reached up to pull off his own tunic, as well as the loose breeches he wore beneath it. He had been prodigious enough when flaccid, but now that he was aroused, the sight of him was enough to make Lynneth's eyes widen in sudden doubt.

But he did not give her time to think. He settled down once more against her, his tongue tracing its way from her breast, down to her stomach, and then all the way between her legs. Lynneth barely bit back a scream as he pleasured her. She had never known, never imagined -- never in all their time together had Timon made love to her so, but Ulfakh seemed to revel in the taste of her, his tongue finding all the secret places that finally brought her to a climax, the room seeming to explode around her in a sudden burst of red heat. It was only at that point that he stopped, and finally entered her.

Lynneth felt the briefest spasm of pain as she took in his unaccustomed girth, but he had prepared her well, and soon her entire world had shrunk down to the feeling of him inside her, his weight on top of her, his gasps and her cries as they mingled and became one sound. She had no idea how long this went on until the wave crested over her once more, and she dug her nails into his back even as he exploded inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, and she held him close as she felt the harsh gasps shake his body. His hair felt heavy and coarse against her fingers, hard and slick as Halfmoon's had been. But she didn't care. She didn't care what he was, or how alien he might have been to her once. Now he was only Ulfakh, and her lover.

What that might mean for the future, Lynneth didn't dare to think. For now at least it was enough to lie in his arms, to feel his weight against her, and to know that she was no longer alone...


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry it took me so long to update -- I was sick for a while, and then I was just sort of distracted by other things. But I really wanted to get back to this story because I was so close to being done. Anyway, this is the last chapter. Thank you to everyone who left such kind and wonderful reviews!

* * *

Five

A rhythmic rasping sounded intruded on her sleep. Blinking, Lynneth opened her eyes to the cool gray half-darkness of a snowy morning. She was in her own bed, the heavy covers pulled up to her chin, and she felt warmer than she had in quite some time. The answer to the unexpected warmth was also the source of the unfamiliar sound: Ulfakh lay sprawled next to her, black hair scattered across the bolster, as he emitted a guttural snore. It seemed orc blood ran hotter than that of normal men; Lynneth could feel the heat emanating from his body, as if he were some sort of oversized bed warmer.

And he had warmed far more than her bed...

The blood rushed to her cheeks then as she recalled the events of the evening before. Not once, but twice they had made love on the rug before the fire, and then Ulfakh had picked her up and brought her to her bed, where they came together in passion one final time before both finally collapsing into a sleep so deep that she didn't even have time to pull on her warm night chemise. If it weren't for Ulfakh's presence she most certainly would have awoken chilled, but as it was she felt warm and safe, and utterly content. Perhaps what they had done the night before was madness. Perhaps she was mad to look on him even now and feel another wave of desire pass over her.

As if he felt her gaze on him, Ulfakh opened his eyes slowly, irises showing red under the line of thin black lashes. He stared back at her for a long moment, then said, "So this is what a bed feels like."

Lynneth looked at him blankly for the span of a few heartbeats, and then a low laugh escaped her. She couldn't help it. After everything they'd shared the night before, the only thing worthy of comment for the Uruk-hai was the bed?

From his puzzled expression she gathered he couldn't understand the source of her amusement, and she wasn't sure she could explain it to him. Instead she moved closer to him and pressed her body against his. "I want to know what _you_ feel like," she said.

He needed no further encouragement. His hands moved against her naked body, and his mouth sought hers. With no other preamble they joined, as he filled her once more and she tangled her fingers in his heavy long hair. The climax came with shocking suddenness, and Lynneth fell back against the bolster, gasping for air and letting the waves of pleasure slowly recede from her body, even as she wondered at her own wantonness. Oh, once Timon had told her that her blood ran hotter than the fires of Mount Doom, and it was true from the very beginning of her marriage that she had always enjoyed the physical act of love. She had thought it was merely her natural attraction to her husband, but perhaps it went deeper than that. After all, she had had no basis of comparison up until now.

Ulfakh naturally was rougher and wilder than Timon had ever been, but she had met his passion with her own. Even as he rolled away from her and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, she could see the livid scratch marks her nails had left against his dark skin, reddish between the paler scars that criss-crossed his back. She wondered how he had gotten them.

Unabashedly naked, he went to the bedroom door and on out into the great room, where their clothing still lay discarded from the evening before. After a few seconds' hesitation, Lynneth pushed her way out of bed as well and gathered up a clean chemise from the clothes press, then pulled it over her head. Perhaps Ulfakh had no problem wandering around the house with nothing on, but Lynneth couldn't quite find it in her to do that. Besides, a chill had spread through the house. They had let the fire gutter out some time the night before.

He had already pulled on his breeches and was poking at the sullen coals as she entered the room. In the gray light of the morning after, the dirty dishes and scattered clothing on the floor seemed to mock the passion that had spent itself there the previous evening. With a sigh, Lynneth went to the dining table and began gathering up the plates and serving bowls. They would need a good soak in some hot water before she could even begin to scrub them.

Behind her she could see the fire come back to life under the Uruk-hai's careful tending. At least there had been some coals left. She paused for a moment to watch him as he worked, his heavy brow furrowed in concentration, the deep reddish-amber glow of his eyes seeming to reflect the color of the reawakened fire.

_I love you_, she thought suddenly, and then felt a wave of fear wash over her. How could she love him? Desire, a need to fight the loneliness that had threatened to swallow her up -- these she could understand. But the warmth that had flooded over her as she watched him was too like the first time she realized she was in love with Timon -- when the young woodcarver had suddenly turned and looked up from his work bench, and the morning sun caught his green-gray eyes and made them shimmer like sunlight on water. The realization had rocked her back then, and it was worse now. To love Timon, a promising young man, was one thing. To love Ulfakh, an orc and an outcast, was completely different.

She knew she should push the traitorous thoughts away. But love, after all, could not be summoned and dismissed at will. All she could do was think of the thousand and one small kindnesses he had shown her, his quiet strength, even the touches of humor he showed at the oddest times. Of course he was an Uruk-hai, a different race than she altogether, but that didn't mean he was a monster.

As if feeling her stare, Ulfakh looked up from the fire and gazed back at her calmly. Lynneth prayed that none of her inner turmoil showed on her face.

He gave her a slight frown, but said nothing, instead rising to his feet and brushing his hands against his breeches as he did so. "I'll bring in more wood," he said, and went out the front door, even though his torso was bare to the freezing morning.

Her heart seemed to resume its normal rhythm. Then, with a sigh, she went on into the kitchen, and tried to force her mind away from its troubling new knowledge. What she was supposed to do next, she had no idea.

* * *

A day passed, and another. Each night she and Ulfakh made love in the bed she had once shared with her husband, and each day she found it more difficult to conceal her feelings. Winter had closed in around them, and each day she blessed the snow as it fell. With the forest paths impassable, she certainly wouldn't have to worry about anyone -- namely Thrandor -- taking it into his head to come and see how she fared. 

Whenever possible, she watched Ulfakh closely to see if there were anything in his voice or aspect that would betray a reciprocation of her feelings. But she could see no real change, save that he was more open in touching her, and more than once they had let passion overtake them in the middle of the day, several times not even bothering to leave the great room to make love. After all, the warmest place in the house was on the hearth rug in front of the fire.

But each day Lynneth could feel the pressure building up within her, and each day it became more and more difficult to remain silent. Finally an evening came when a new storm blew down off the shoulders of the White Mountains, and the little house shook with each gust of wind. Ulfakh dropped a new load of wood into the basket by the hearth and stood there, holding his chapped hands out to the fire.

A piece of mending lay neglected in Lynneth's lap. She watched him for a long moment, noting how his slick black hair had begun to work its way out of the suede thong with which he had tied it back. Then she said simply, "I love you."

He turned at that, and gave her an unreadable look out of his blood-colored eyes.

The following silence was even more dreadful than Lynneth had feared it would be. They stared at one another, the Uruk-hai expressionless as far as she could tell. Eru only knew what might be revealed in her own features.

She swallowed and said, "I understand if you -- don't."

Another endless moment, and then he replied, "Love is for men. Not orcs."

A knot began to form in her throat, and Lynneth forced herself to look down at her mending. Mechanically she picked it up and stabbed the sharp needle through the coarse linen. What else had she expected, after all? How could an orc even know what love was?

A drop of moisture fell on the shirt she held, and she stared at it as the linen absorbed the water. At first she thought the roof must be leaking, then realized it was her own tear that stained the fabric. That thought only increased the choking sensation in her throat, and with a sudden angry gesture she flung the the garment to one side and stood. What she intended, she didn't know -- she only knew that she had to get out of there and away from Ulfakh's slightly baffled stare. But no sooner had she gained her feet than he crossed the few paces that separated them and seized her by the arm.

"Lynneth."

Knowing it was useless to fight against him -- even now she feared he might be bruising her arm -- Lynneth halted and glared up at him. How stupid she was. What on earth had possessed her to do something so foolish --

He said, "I don't know anything of love." Before she could speak, he pressed a callused finger against her lips. "But if it means wanting to spend all your days with someone, to ache when they're gone, and wait on their smiles, then I must love you."

A bright fountain of joy seemed to burst forth within her, and she had no words. She kissed the finger he held on her mouth, and then he lifted her face to his and kissed her back, harder and harder, until she felt as if the world had begun to melt around her. Then his arms went around her, and she was being lifted up, taken away to the bedroom, where he laid her down and proceeded to show her exactly how much he did love her.

Some time later she swam up into consciousness just enough to think, _I could die now and be happy_, before his body reclaimed her once again, and there was nothing but a warm red-tinged darkness and the endless, shuddering echoes of her ecstasy.

* * *

Winter began to stretch into spring, and the patches of bare earth between the trees seemed to spread with each passing day. Normally Lynneth welcomed the return of spring and its promise of warmth and green growing things, but the coming of spring now only threatened the isolation that had sheltered her and her lover from the world's prying eyes. 

Finally Ulfakh faced her, on a day early in March, when a soft wind from the south threatened the last borders of ice beneath the trees. "They will come soon, you know."

She lifted her face into the breeze, breathing in the sharp scent of life reawakening, the richness of the black muddy earth beneath her feet. "I know."

"They cannot know I was here. If they find me, they will kill me -- and possibly you as well, for such unnatural behavior."

She wondered how he could sound so calm, but although he had spoken little to her of his time serving Saruman she knew Ulfakh had been bred for one thing: to kill before he was killed. Death held little terror for him. But it was one thing to die in battle and quite another to be hunted down just because of other people's foolish prejudices. Still, she knew he was right. The hatred of Ulfakh's kind ran deep, and no protestations of his relative innocence or his worth as a living, thinking being would keep the people of her village from destroying him -- not just for what he was, but also for despoiling a daughter of Gondor. Certainly they would never believe that she could possibly have loved him.

_But how can I bear it?_ she thought. _How can I bear to lose him as well? Can I love no one without having them taken from me?_

Although she did not voice the cry aloud, some of her despair must have etched itself on her features. Ulfakh reached out and ran a rough hand down the side of her face, cupping her cheek in his oversized palm. "Do not think I wish this," he said. "But no harm should come to you because of me." And with that he turned and stalked back into the house, his anger and frustration seeming to radiate out from every rigid limb.

When she awoke the next morning, he was gone.

At first she thought he had only gone out to check on the animals, or to bring more wood for the fire. But she could see no sign of him anywhere, and when she finally returned to her room and thought to check the drawer in the clothes press he had used, she saw that all the garments she had made for him were gone. Only then did she sink back down on the bed, the awful aching emptiness taking hold of her, pressing down so heavily she couldn't even find the strength to weep.

Perhaps he had only thought to spare her. Certainly every day he lingered had increased the likelihood that he would be discovered. And whatever idle fancies might have told her otherwise, she knew that where he had gone she could not follow. She was not meant for a harsh life in hiding.

Moving slowly, feeling far older than her three-and-twenty summers, Lynneth stood and made her way through the house, out into the garden that fronted the building. The roses that bordered the path had just begun to put forth reddish-dark leaves. She suddenly remembered how Ulfakh had helped her prune them some two months earlier, and finally the tears came. Her legs seemed to give way, and she sank to the muddy ground, letting the wracking sobs overtake her body. It seemed as if everywhere she turned she thought of Ulfakh, thought of the sound of his voice and the way his arms had felt around her. How could she go on without him?

She had no idea how long she remained thus. But the earth was cold and damp beneath her, and finally she pushed herself upright, feeling her legs shake even as she stood. The woods were silent around her, save for the chirping of a bird off to one side and the faintest sound of the wind in the new leaves. At least no one had been witness to her pain.

_I will never forget you_, she thought. _And wherever you go, I hope you will never forget me. Never forget that someone loved you...and always will._

For a long moment she stood there, feeling the flap of her muddy skirts against her legs. Then she lifted a hand toward the north, half in blessing, half in farewell. "Live, Ulfakh," she said. "Live. For me."

Then she turned and went back inside. There was much to do. The mountain paths would soon be clear, and then she would leave this place. It was time to rejoin the world. Time to go to her sister in Minas Tirith, and take part in life once more. She could only hope that Ulfakh, wherever he was, would greet the future with the same determination. Whatever he had done in the past, he deserved some measure of happiness.

After all, if an orc could come to know love, then there was some hope for this world after all...


End file.
